night, and as he rode through Lew valley, he looked into a newly ploughed field, in which a plough had been left. On this was seated a lady in white satin, with long hair floating over her shoulders. Her face was uplifted and her eyes directed towards the moon, so that he had a full view of it. He recognised her at once as Madame Gould, and taking off his hat called out, ‘I wish you a very good night, Madame.’ She bowed in return and waved her hand. The man noticed the sparkle of her diamond rings as she did so. On reaching his home, after the first greetings and congratulations, he said to his relatives, ‘What do you think? I have seen the strange Madame Gould sitting on a plough, this time of night, looking at the moon.’
All who heard it stared, and a blank expression passed over their countenances. ‘Madame,’ said they, ‘was buried seven days ago in Lew Church.’
On that night, 28th April, the moon was seven days old and it set at 1.35 a. m. next day, approximately. Now the remarkable point in this story, which I heard from the family, is that Madame was seated on a plough; and the plough was the symbol of Frî.
For my own part, I believe that the
